


The Wheel Breaks the Butterfly

by infensi_floralibus



Category: The White Queen (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-09
Updated: 2013-08-09
Packaged: 2017-12-22 22:39:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/918843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infensi_floralibus/pseuds/infensi_floralibus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"When she was just a girl she expected the world, but it flew away from her reach so she ran away in her sleep", Anne has been accustomed to a life of comfort and ease, but on the night before her betrothal she thinks on her change in fortune.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wheel Breaks the Butterfly

**Author's Note:**

> This piece is set on the eve of Anne's betrothal, so it's marginally less angsty than usual.
> 
> Marginally.... just a teeny bit....

_Angers, France - 24th July, 1470_  


The weather is spitefully pleasant as I gaze out at the river Maine from my barred window in Angers castle; I want rain to fall in the place of the tears I am not permitted to shed, I wish I could strike up a wind to blow away my ludicrous betrothal, to cause weather so foul no one could doubt it was God displaying his displeasure at the union of Warwick and Lancaster. But I dare not speak of storms, not so soon after we almost met our maker at the bottom of the narrow sea.  


Izzy lay listlessly on the day bed, a scowl firmly set on her delicate features, refusing to speak to anybody. I want to discuss so much with her; my incredulity at my seemingly sudden engagement, my fears that we shall never be welcome in England again, and my terror at being the wife of an apparently violent prince. Izzy had never expressed any pleasure at sharing her husband’s bed and she was married to George – a handsome son of York, what awaited me with the son of the bad queen and her sleeping king?  


There was nobody for me to express my fears to, Isabel would not speak to me and mother would only parrot father’s words. My new gown, ordered especially for the occasion, was already laid out across one of the chairs, the hem having only just been finished that afternoon. It was impossible to ignore, drawing the eye like a particularly colourful bruise, and I couldn’t help running my fingers across the satin ribbons whenever I passed it. It was painful to think that, had we been at home and this was simply a new gown bought as a gift by my loving father, I would have adored it. But now it was a constant reminder of what awaited be in the morning.  


_Edward of Lancaster_ , I whisper, cautiously running the words around my mouth. _Husband_ , that was how I must think of him now, Prince of Wales rather than ice. _Anne, Princess of Wales_.  


“Oh do stop muttering to yourself.” Iz snapped, her first words in many hours.  


“Sorry.” I reply quietly, turning again to the window.  


“People will think you as mad as King Henry.” She continued bitterly. I turn to her sharply, shocked that she would still dare speak these things, “don’t look at me like that, you’re not married to him yet.”  


“Tomorrow I am betrothed to his son, he will be my father-in-law.”  


“My in-laws are in England whilst we are here plotting their downfall, family allegiances mean little in this war of cousins.” Iz snarled, rising swiftly from the day bed and marching to lift my new gown by the sleeves, a snarl on her pretty face as she glowered at the intricate beading and embroidery. “Don’t get too high and mighty, you’ve seen how quickly we can fall.”  


“I don’t want this, you know that right?” I ask, also standing, incredulous that she might believe that I was enjoying being raised above her.  


“It doesn’t matter what we want.” Said Isabel resentfully, pushing my gown forcefully back into my arms before throwing herself on the bed, her back turned to me. I sighed quietly, returning the gown to its position draped over the chair so as best to stop it wrinkling.  


Leaving Isabel to her mood I sat again at the window, pressing my cheek against the cool pane as the sun went down over the city below. I understood that she was in mourning for a baby that she was never even allowed to hold and I knew that George’s fall from my father’s grace would weigh heavily on her, but she didn’t seem able to recognise that I was no more pleased with our current state than she was. I needed my sister too.  


I closed my eyes and wished myself back in England; the garden would be in bloom now and the river Avon would sparkle in the sunlight as it flowed past Warwick castle. I wonder who is there now, who might be sleeping in my bed. Most likely it is a supporter of Edward, perhaps one of the many young lords who had once been my father’s ward there. Perhaps even Richard.  


No, I dismiss that thought quickly. He would be with his brother the king. Richard was the York brother who had elected to remain loyal, choosing his brotherly allegiance over the family who raised him. Not that I could blame him, if our positions were reversed it would be hard for me to choose anyone over Isabel, even when she was sullen.  


What would he think of us now, us traitors across the sea? Would he still look back at his time with us with pleasure, or would he thank God that he was free from that nest of vipers? I dare not even acknowledge the question that haunts the back of my mind, _what must he think of me?_  


Girlhood dreams of being a royal duchess had to be forgotten, I should be glad that I was making an even better match, but my eyes stung with unshed tears as I thought how much he must hate me and all that my family stood for.  


Tomorrow I was to pledge my life and my love to a different man, a man I had never met before, and there was nothing to do but accept it. I drew my legs up and pressed my face against my knees to prevent any tears escaping.  


I was a daughter of the house of Warwick, the Kingmaker’s daughter, and this was the price to be paid for taking the throne. Who was I to make decisions in the fate of Kings?

**Author's Note:**

> I think I prefer writing in first person but it does lock you rather on one character. Maybe it's time to write about someone else.  
> Anywho, all feedback appreciated!  
> (p.s. finally have my copy of The Sunne in Splendour but I have to finish The White Princess aka, Stop Blowing Holes in My Ship, first)


End file.
